


Soul of a Poet

by shinra_archives



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Gentle Kissing, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, POV First Person, Reno First Person, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinra_archives/pseuds/shinra_archives
Summary: An exploration of love and meaning through careful language.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Kudos: 13





	Soul of a Poet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on July 7th, 2006.
> 
> This is not my work. The original author is N23 on Adult-Fanfiction(.)org. This account's purpose is to archive and preserve the original author's work on AO3 in its entirety. This account does not take any credit or ownership of the original work.
> 
> \---  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

_Some times intimacy can make you forget. Or make you lose track of what you have already learned about a person. At some point your mind convinces you that since you have shared such incredibly close physical distance, pleasure, maybe promises or declarations, that you have suddenly cracked the mystery of the other. Complacency sets in and you forget. You may settle into a rhythm, barely even registering the strange miracle of such levels of oneness, singularity.. such gravitation. In your brain, you're thinking about work.. or other life menialities.. Missing the chance to look deep.. see your partner at their most open and unguarded, to see yourself there too.  
  
You might even think the physical sensations are enough by themselves and for lots of people they are.. the simplicity of a good meaningless fuck. It is obvious, the purity of unencumbered sex.. simply enjoying the physicality of love without the troublesome emotions along for the ride, never digging deeper than the initial surface attraction and sexual chemistry. It's not enough for me though, not any more._  
  
~O~  
  
I saw him writing again. In the same little, black leather covered, three ring memo book. At first I thought it was just a place to scribble notes, make lists, leave reminders for himself. You see, he's not what you would call a verbose personality. The words he chooses to say are usually well thought out and appropriate and his silences even more meaningful. I mean sure he talks to me, sarcastic friendly banter and small phrases in a code that only we really understand.. Casualties of spending so much time together over the long years, we are somewhat incomprehensible to others. I like it that way though and I suspect he does too.  
  
The book though.. I had been seeing it off and on for a while, never really paid it much mind. Remember what I said about intimacy and complacency. I never paid it much mind until one day when I came into the room as he sat, slightly hunched in one of our armchairs, scribbling lines of text and then erasing to pencil in alternate words.. It was definitely no list or personal memo. I ventured closer and he reacted quite strongly, starting and snapping the small volume closed in one big hand. I remember wanting to ask what he was so busy at but something held me back and I just stared as he got to his feet with a small apologetic smile and left the room.  
  
Curiosity overwhelmed me, I have to be honest and I began to pay very close attention to the whereabouts of the book. How had I never noticed that he took it with him everywhere? I saw it on his desk.. saw him slip it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket in the morning before we left for work.. In his gym duffel, in his hand as he intently hunched, laying down words and then taking them up again to try others in their place. It was never far from him, never left unattended or out in the open, until one day, today actually, this morning.  
  
I had a fresh cup of coffee with just a touch of cream in one hand and a light concoction of tea, honey and milk in the other for him. I observed that my beverage was the color of his eyes while his was the color of my skin. Amused for a moment I almost didn't notice the thing, two small rectangular triple pierced stacks of ring shot paper.. faint blue lines stretching across parallel from top to bottom, black leather cover all but hidden, visible only as a border.. The book was open on his desk but the man was not in evidence.  
  
My eyes shot to the only marked page, an oft abused and smudged leaf of near grey at this point. It was apparently the only page of the whole volume that had ever been touched by a writing instrument as the pages on the other side of the ring binding sat neat and pristine, their corners unrumpled, edges smooth and factory cut. I could not help but read, the coffee cups shaking in my hands, threatening to spill over.  
  
'7 Words'  
1\. Red  
2\. Marked  
3\. Porcelain  
4\. Stark  
5\. Languid  
6\. Perfect  
7\. Mine  
  
These words had been inscribed over an area so smudged with erasing that the grey of their loops and lines was near invisible against the shiny grey paper under them.  
  
I didn't realize I had been holding my breath until I had deposited the tea cup near his keyboard and returned to my desk across the room. At some point I had flipped the cover on the small volume closed, it's contents suddenly seemed so private, and I felt ashamed for looking. He came into the office then, looking quizzically at me.. I must have gone pale or something and I know I was breathing a bit hard.  
  
_"I brought your tea yo.."_ was all I offered by way of greeting and he simply nodded his thanks with a small smile. Noticing the book, now closed, on his desk he quickly pocketed it with a furtive hand as I looked away, clearing my throat and sipping my now tepid beverage. How long had I just stared at those carefully selected words?  
  
We worked in comfortable silence, an unspoken arrangement falling into place by which we routinely completed our field reports. He, rising to pad soundlessly over to my desk, depositing a stack of completed documents for my review and signature and retrieving a similar stack from my out box which awaited the same treatment.  
  
He was done before three while I still had a couple to get through and he waited for me to finish, leaning back in his reclining desk chair and blanking out at the ceiling.. apparently lost in thought. I glanced over every so often but he failed to produce the book and begin his fevered graphite revisions. Perhaps those words were the final cut. My stomach rolled like stage fright, each of the seven words flashing behind my eyes like a revelation in grey, a smudged, worn declaration of love in code. I must have swallowed a bit loudly, sighed somewhat too deeply or rubbed my temples with too pinched an expression because he dropped his gaze from the acoustic tiles to rest upon me and the incomplete report I had just allowed to flutter to the desk top.  
  
_"I know that information is accurate.. hell.. I wrote that report from your summary, just sign off and lets go, rest of the day is ours."_ It was more words than he had uttered to me since we arrived at work practically with the dawn.  
  
I made no hesitation, applying my messy signature and the date and dropping the whole sheaf into an accordion file like the one sitting on the corner of his desk, ready to meet our boss' final approval before ascending to the big boss.  
  
_"All done, lets get outta here yo."_ I grinned, pulling on my navy suit jacket and shutting down my computer. I tried to put the words to the back of my mind where they became much like a holy mantra, endlessly cycling there, reminding me that while I had grown so oblivious as to miss something as important as the book for so long, he had been endlessly seeking to define his feelings for me in seven simple words. To some this might have been insulting. To be so condensed, stripped of physicality and energy and shot down on paper as syllables, reformed as language.  
  
To me it seemed the height of compliment, how many times had different words failed to meet approval as applied to me? How many terms tossed off as unworthy to describe me? How much love and thought had gone into the selection of the final seven? I reeled anew with every passing thought, with every repetition of the mantra.  
  
Soon we were in the elevator, descending to the parking level and he pushed off the back wall to stand over me, tall and broad, filling the navy suit he wore as strict and buttoned down as mine was opposite, hanging open and loose on my narrow frame. I looked up from my silent reverie to question his dark eyes through their smoked violet barrier. _"You ok?"_ He rumbled before I could open my mouth.  
  
_"Yeah.. sorry, just lost in my head yo."_ He smiled softly at my apology and turned back to regard the closed elevator doors impassively until they opened to the green lit grey of the parking level, stepping through, he reached back to grasp my hand and tug me along.  
  
His touch. If I can be redeemed by something in this, it is my unwillingness to become so remiss as to forget the importance of this man's willing touch. It has pulled me out of hell.. and back from death.. driven me to wild throes of ecstasy and soothed my sorrows. Any and all physical contact I receive from him, I consider a gift from heaven. I held tightly to his hand as I stepped from the elevator car releasing my grip when he relaxed his, our hands falling apart, still tingling with the remembered contact. I followed him close through the rows of vehicles toward his shiny black sedan. If there was ever a TURKS trade mark vehicle then his car exemplified it.  
  
There wasn't anyone else in this part of the building at the moment. The regular work day ended at five and we were skating out two hours early. You have to understand, our intimacy is not what you would call a ShinRa sanctioned condition.. No.. we'd been sneaking around for years under the radar with his quiet ways and my ability to tell the purest of intimate truths and make them sound like audacious lies. No one believed me and no one could get a peep out of him about our situation.. just the way we both liked it.  
  
The question of why he'd pulled me into a blistering kiss, pressed bodily against the smooth contour of his whip-black, diamond sheen, four door with his thigh wedged firmly between my legs, was lost in the passion of the moment. I moaned against his firm demanding lips, pressing my tongue against his with a fury born of the desire to atone for my invisible sin. My inobservance.. my neglectful conceit.  
  
He broke away hesitantly, with a smirk playing at his tender lips, pointing over my shoulder at a stationary security camera. It was aimed down across the row of cars we were parked in but you could tell by the angle that we were not in the frame. He then proceeded to point out five other similar cameras all pointing more or less randomly around this section of the parking structure but all missing his car with their electronic eyes and traitorous archival footage. He had parked in this precise spot on purpose.. even at the crack of dawn this morning when we had arrived early at his request, he had been planning that kiss. I was in awe and I said nothing as he smiled again, my expression displaying my understanding.  
  
We made it home quickly and once the door closed behind us, fell into each other's arms, navy blue and white, black silk and scuffed boots ablating to mark the path of our swift retreat to the bedroom.  
  
We began without preamble, our need suddenly intense to the point of being blinding, our mouths closing over one another's and our hands finding the secret places we'd long ago mapped on each other's bodies that drove our passion to dizzying heights.  
  
There was never pain when he entered me, slick with something from the bedside drawer, still cautiously slow to avoid causing me any discomfort, always so considerate and thoughtful. He asked if I was alright after he'd become seated as far in as he could push, just like he always did. I smiled and nodded, bringing my knees up even with his shoulders as he gripped one milky thigh, withdrawing to push in again with a bit more force, pressing a soft grunt from my slack mouth with the impact.  
  
From there the frequency and force of his thrusts began to build and I cried out in gape mouthed pleasure with every deep penetration, in time with his chorus of hitches and gasps. We moved together in a near worshipful cadence, locking eyes when we could keep them from fluttering closed or clenching tight in concentration, singing to each other in nonverbal tones of need and affection.  
  
Suddenly he leaned in and softly broke our pact of unintelligibility by whispering a word against my ear with a hot puff of breath.  
  
_"Red"_  
  
My breath caught in a jagged ripple of recognition and I arched up against him, whimpering as he uttered another syllabic defiance with the next smooth, solid thrust.  
  
_"Marked"_  
  
My mind spun, the meaning, the thought, the terms selected.. their use in this nigh holy act.. "Oh Gods!"  
  
His next thrust would have been driven home in silence but for my voice which rose to the mantra without thought.  
  
_"Porcelain"_ I breathed before I could stop myself and I heard his small noise of surprise but his pace only increased, hips slamming forward to plunge his swollen member in deeper and harder with every push, reddening the backs of my thighs.  
  
_"You read it?"_ It really wasn't a question and was delivered along with a jarring thrust that had me biting my lip hard enough to bruise as I tried to compose my answer through the haze of white noise electric jolt pleasure searing up every nerve from the blue hot point inside me he kept glancing with every pass. His grip on my thigh tightened and I gasped my reply.  
  
_"Yeah.''_

"And?" There was no anger in his voice, the tone soft and nearly apologetic. As we locked eyes he released his hold on my slightly bruised thigh and I linked my feet around behind him. Rolling me under gently, he kept up our rhythm, our firm abdomens now pressing and sliding against my straining erection, making my eyes flutter.  
  
_"You, w-want me ta try an' explain m-myself to ya, n-now?"_ I managed to groan this with great difficulty between and around the hard inhalations and small cries his thick, damn perfect cock was working out of me with every sharp forward snap.  
  
_"Yeah.."_ He breathed this against my ear, and again the note was of apology. What was he sorry for?  
  
I moaned, rolling my head back against the pillow and digging my short nails into his broad muscular back as another shockwave rippled up my spine, twirling my head and my gut at the same time. My body tensed as I nearly lost it right then, tightening around the invasion. I locked my legs firm around his strong back, drawing him fully in and holding him there. Exhaling my held breath in a long low groan, I took another deep one, back arched and taut, fingers pressing semicircular marks into dense muscular posterior contour, my neck still craned back in rapture. I found my voice.  
  
_"How do you tell beauty it's beautiful? Power it's powerful? Immovability it's immovable? Mystery it's mysterious? How do you explain a fundamental attribute without using the same word in the description? How do I describe us without referencing you and me? Can I really say I love you and have it mean the same thing as it leaves my mouth as when it enters your ear? Will I ever know you well enough to even try at understanding? Will I ever understand myself well enough to even try at knowing? This morning found me with less knowledge of you than I possess now.. I'll never stop taking you in.."_  
  
Slowly I relaxed my body and freed him to move again but he remained motionless, still thick and pulsing inside me. I rolled my head up to peer at the sculpted form above me and I could see his deep eyes glistening, soft and a little moist.  
  
_"Rude?"_  
  
_"You have the soul of a poet Reno.."_ The murmur was low but his lips pulled at a smile before he began to move again, rocking against me deep and slow. I offered my wrists and he took them for leverage, pinning them above my head as I arched to meet him, my own fervor drawing an urgency from him, causing him to increase the pace.  
  
_"S'what I said a-about you when I- read it yo.."_  
  
~End~  
  
---


End file.
